Carol Ann Duffy — The Way My Mother Speaks

I say her phrases to myself in my head or under the shallows of my breath, restful shapes moving. The day and ever. The day and ever. The train this slow evening goes down England browsing for the right sky, too blue swapped for a cool grey. For miles I have been saying What like is it. The way I say things when I think. Nothing is silent. Nothing is not silent. What like is it. Only tonight I am happy and sad like a child who stood at the end of summer and dipped a net in a green, erotic pond. The day and ever. The day and ever. I am homesick, free, in love with the way my mother speaks.